WorldCon Reno

Last weekend, I went to WorldCon in Reno (for which I had signed up due to proximity). I had a blast! I'd been to WonderCon in San Francisco several times, but I'd never committed to a con before. It was amazing. I met several folks (especially from the Language Creation Society) whom I only knew from online, and could fully relax the guardedness of the science fiction fan among the general populace. The authors were friendlier than I expected, but I guess that comes of being a fan before a writer. I certainly didn't expect to meet a Vatican City astronomer! I also saw Paul and Rosemary, whom I will see again in the fall. The Hugo Awards were fantsstic, although the comedy was mediocre. My only regret is that I only went for Saturday and Sunday, but next year I'll go to Chicago for the entire con.

The Drowned World

On the lake, the water levels varies from year to year, no longer regulated by nature, but by artifice and treaty. The snows of this winter which filled the coffers also filled the lake, so much so that most of the rocky beaches are underwater and the woody plants of yesteryear stand, slowly drowning. Down at Bristlecone Beach, where Christ the King holds its Bible study, where banks of rich purple flowers bloomed last year, there is no longer a peninsula, not even an island, but only green and dying trees and a sign forlornly sticking out of the water like ruined tower off the Anglian coast.

Birthday

That was quite a birthday! My cousin, Zach, and his girlfriend, Katie, came up for the festivities on Thursday. On Friday, we tried for the river, but in the morning the raft company had not opened, so we decided to go on the boat around the lake. Katie had never been on the lake, although her friend had been to Tahoe may times. We went over to Thunderbird Lodge, the stately manor founded by the heir to PG&E and Richmond/Sunset real estate, former circus performer, and 1905 earthquake hero. The old woodie Thunderbird II was nowhere in sight.

We continued down the Nevada side of the lake and stopped at a cove and a group of rocks. Three of us jumped, and as usual, were stripped of our breath by the bone-chilling temperature. Two of us adjusted fairly quickly. We swam to the rocks and climbed up on them. The rocks were as warm as the water was cold; unfortunately, somebody had tagged the back of the rock.

Once we were back on the boat, we went southward, past the clothing-free beach. Since we had enough gas, we headed across the lake to Emerald Bay. The heavy snowfall of this winter, still abundantly evident in the peaks of the Tahoe Rim, had filled Emerald Bay nearly to its greatest extent, so that the water was a marine blue rather than emerald green. The waterfall behind Vikingsholm, usually a trickle at this time of year, was visible from the mouth of the bay as a foaming white spray. As we travelled around Fannette Island, I told the others about Mrs. Knight, who owned Vikingsholm, and her predecessor Cap'n Dick, who used to row to Tahoe City for drinks and rowed back drunk every night. Nobody wanted to swim to the island with me! The one unfortunate effect of the high water was this: the travel lanes in and out of Emerald Bay were not as idiot-proof as usual (and a lot of idiots go on vacation). The return trip was uneventful, except for gas.

Since we had missed lunch altogether, Zach, Katie, and I went into town and got a slice of pizza to tide us over. Later, Mom, Dad, Zach, Katie, Aidan, Kirsten, and I went to the recently reopened Hacienda del Lago. It was nice to have the place back, although the bar that they built for the (former) tapas bar places takes up a lot of room that used to be seating.

After dinner, Zach, Katie, and I went to The Blue Agave to kill some time before the movie, and ran into Aidan and Kirsten. Zach, Katie, and I then watched Captain America, which all of us (even Katie) enjoyed. Marvel is doing a good job of tranferring its interwoven narrative to the screen.

On Saturday, Aidan, Kirsten, Zach, Katie, and I floated down the Truckee (since the rafting had opened the afternoon of the previous day). The extra water that had been added that morning made navigation more hazardous, since the rocks which usually showed were underwater and all the gunk which heretofore had lain on dry, or least slight damp, land, had risen up and headed downstream in the current. Several groups of enormous size hit the river, so we had to avoid the logjams. I got suburnt, but it was a great last part to my birthday "weekend".

New Blog

Tomorrow is my birthday, so it seems an auspicious time to launch my new blog, The Tahoe Tongue, on the pre-settlement Washo language of the Tahoe basin. I plan to update it weekly while I work through Jacobsen's primer and beyond. I'd appreciate feedback on the clarity of the linguistic descriptions, since I want to make it as accessible as possible.

A Long Way From Wemyss

Recently I learned that my Scottish forebears, the Bealls, were exclusively from one village in Fife. Wemyss, the village in question, is pronounced "Weems" and derives from the Scots Gaelic noun uaimh, which means "cave". There are certainly many caves near Wemyss, some of which were inhabited in the Neolithic Age and feature typically frank drawings. My ancestors, the Bealls, derive their surname from the Scots Gaelic noun beul or beal - the "extra" a or u indicates a broad, rather than slender, final consonant. This feature reminds me of a comment of Tolkien regarding Elvish spelling of English, namely that an elf such as Legolas would spell "bell" as "beoll". beul means "mouth", either that of a river or a person, and as an adjective, may refer to physical location or rhetorical skill. It seems to me there is a third option: in a place that is named after caves, why couldn't beul refer to the mouth of the caves instead? Since one regional cave in particular is famous for its rock drawings, the family that lived at the mouth of the cave would have a unique appellation.

Voyage of the Dawn Treader

I recently watched Voyage of the Dawn Treader, the third and (sadly) last installment of the Chronicles of Narnia movie line. The solid beginning arose great hopes in me, since the visual signature was definately Narnian, not Lord of the Rings nor Harry Potter. I can forgive the rejiggering of plot necessary to sustain a movie, since the literary form is more tolerant of episodic narrative than its cinematic cousin. The plot device was weak, albeit an obvious one (what aristocrat doesn't have a sword?) The mysterious fog seemed a bit more contrived. The addition of a second female passenger seemed gratuitous. The longer dragon-stage of Eustace, however, was used to good effect, especially since the conversation between Aslan and Eustace in the book is profound, but would not translate well to film. That brings me to my final point: the Christian elements were minimal and well-hidden by conflicting desires to capture both the Christian and the secular market. The salvific (and generally non-Evangelical, non-Apocalyptic) Christian element, though objectionable to many, is the thematic signature of the Chronicles of Narnia, as integral to its setting as Quenya and Sindarin are to Lord of the Ring.

Summer Hike

On Saturday morning in the parking lot, the sky over the City was gray, and there was some doubt whether it would lift in the East Bay as well. The intrepid hiing group, nonetheless, set off. It was still cool by the time we reach the Little Farm in Tilden Park, but not truly overcast. We hiked up to Memorial Grove, which was very windy and seemed distinctly ungrovelike to me. It resembled more strongly Dun Aonghas in Inishmore, although the viewing platform was in better shape. From the viewing platform, one could vast swaths of the East Bay and at least two reservoirs. After we had rested there, we descended to the actual grove, planted by the Rotary Club (an organization I know little about). Then we completed the short loop via a path that provided more shade. All of us went over to the Little Farm and patted the cows, although some were less than happy about cow slobber and the surprising sharpness of cow tongue.